New Day
by Neon Daisies
Summary: Liz ponders the effect time has on memories as Sands sleeps.


**Author's Note**: I was watching OUATIM last night after watching Benny and Joon the night before. It was that…contrast of Johnnies, I suppose, that inspired this little fic. Now that they've both had time to recover from their traumas in my last fic, Liz would have the time – and the state of mind – to reflect on more subtle physical changes in her husband. Hard lives always leave traces, and this is what I image her thoughts to be.

Just a bit of a stand alone. ;)

Enjoy, and of course reviews will be appreciated as much as they always are.

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His jaw was more angular than it had been.

Liz laid on her side, her head propped up on one arm as she watched her husband sleep. She knew the signs by now, could tell when he was sleeping and when he was merely laying awake but motionless. His brow was lax above the worn eye mask that covered half his face, his lips were just barely parted, his hand tucked under her pillow. That last part was what gave him away; when he was awake he'd never waste time with her pillow.

Her lips quirked then fell back into a pensive line just as quickly. It was Saturday. Neither of them had to work. That didn't bother her; she didn't feel the need to fill the day. It was her birthday…but that wasn't so bad. What had her studying her husband's face as he slept was the kind of question that would get her in trouble if she ever found the courage to ask it.

Time had left more marks on his face than a few revealed angles. She couldn't see them now, but there were fine lines radiating out from the corner of his eyes. A permanent crease on his brow recorded his tendency to furl it while thinking. Faint grooves marked either side of his mouth and she could see in her mind the frown that went with the line in his forehead.

With infinite care, Liz brushed a few strands of too-long hair back behind his ear. He'd never been a particularly vain man, but it'd gotten worse now that he couldn't… Well, she'd always been the one to notice those things for him before and that hadn't changed. He was getting shaggy.

His skin was paler than it'd been when he'd come back to her. How he loved to blame his starter wrinkles on too much sun and not enough sunscreen. Liz supposed that was part of it; she blamed more on Sheldon's well-established tendency to brood.

Her eyes slipped over his face like a caress; she still couldn't quite believe he was here. In some ways it was as if he'd never been gone; in others he was almost a stranger to her.

_Enough_, she told herself. She'd spent more than enough time brooding over the new facets of his personality that had been revealed to her in the last months – the moodiness that would take him away from her emotionally and physically for days at a time, the flashes of temper, his unrivaled pessimistic streak…the nightmares. They were dealing with those things a little at a time as they both remembered what it meant to share space and life and themselves again.

His forearms were wiry, no traces of baby fat left to conceal his veins. The hand that was curled loosely on his bare chest was marked with calluses, his middle finger slightly stained by nicotine. The last week had been a difficult one for him. He'd been living apart from her for most of it. When he'd come home in time for dinner the night before she'd been surprised. He wasn't usually considerate. That is, he didn't usually leave the toilet seat up anymore, but she hadn't expected him to do anything for her birthday.

What had the world come to that a night of undisturbed sleep was a gift?

"You're going to make me blush."

"How long have you been awake?" Liz asked, not really surprised that she'd been caught. This was her secret agent husband after all.

"Long enough to be embarrassed." Sands pulled his hand out from under Liz's pillow. His fingers found the soft skin of her arm. "You're thinking about something."

"Yes." Life worked better when she didn't bother denying his intuition.

"About?"

"You."

"Naturally."

"If you're embarrassed about anything, it should be your lack of shame."

"If I can't feel shame, I certainly can't feel embarrassment."

"Must you always have the last word?" He didn't say anything, but his lips curled up in a slow smile. "Well, there's something that hasn't changed." The smile died and Liz felt sorry for speaking.

"Is that what you've been losing sleep over? Change?"

"Change…the effects of and the lack thereof."

"When did you start taking birthdays so seriously? I know you're over the hill now, but still…"

"You did remember that it was my birthday. I'd wondered."

He ignored her. "What were you thinking about?"

"I don't think you'll be interested once you tell you."

His fingers traced up her arm, circled around to the nape of her neck. His kiss was soft…patient. His fingers slipped under the hem of her pajama top and lazily traced the path of her spine. And then he stopped.

"Tell me."

"Aren't we a little old for kiss and tell?"

"I won't mention it to anyone if you won't." This time his kiss was a little more persuasive. "Tell me."

"You've gotten older." Liz ran her finger down one of the lines bracketing his mouth, smiling a little as he turned his head and nipped her.

"Is that all? Just surprised to wake up next to an old man?"

No mention of eyes or deformities. Was he trying or was his mood really this good? "No, that wasn't all."

"What else."

"Do you remember what I... Do you remember me?" she corrected herself a bit lamely.

He was no longer smiling that secret little smile that was just for her. She could see him deciding whether or not to make the obvious joke. And then he touched her nose and gave a deep, deep sigh. Up and down…up and down… Liz leaned into his touch, closed her eyes as he moved up, along her eyebrow, down her cheekbone, along the bottom curve of her lips. Then back up, tracing her top lip and returning to her nose.

"I remember," he said softly as he ran his light fingers over her face.

Liz pressed for more, uncertain why this mattered so much to her. "Memories don't age."

For a long time he didn't say anything. He didn't want to tell her that while memories didn't age, they faded and he was too proud to tell her that it was the impressions that he remembered and held to. The shot of lust he'd felt the first time he'd seen her, the long gradual fall into loving her, the wonder he'd felt looking down at her amazed face the first time they'd… How could he explain that without becoming a sap?

He settled for, "Your voice is older." An unexpected evil grin lit up his face. "Besides, I enjoy picturing you in your birthday suit." His grin spread at the sound of her surprised laughter.

"Which one? The one I came with or the one you bought me the year before we married?"

"Take your pick." He pressed her back into the bed. "I enjoy the thought of them both."


End file.
